My Nightmare, My DreambySmallTitFan©
This is the story of a marriage which was supposed to be a dream come true, but it turned out to be a nightmare. The only good that came from this "dream" marriage to Gretchen was my relationship with her daughter, Miss Sarah.
Gretchen and I dated many years ago here in Georgia and then we broke up. Oh, how I wish it had remained that way. How very much better off I would be, but that is not what happened, and I have only myself to blame. When someone dies, we tend to forget their flaws and frailties and too often the dearly departed is soon canonized under the authority of their survivors' faulty memories. So, too, do we remember our failed relationships. We usually forget the good and remember only the bad, helping ourselves to detach and not mourn the loss of love. But sometimes, particularly for melancholics, we forget the bad and remember only the good, and we are haunted by the memory of love lost, dogged by the unanswered question of what might have been.
No, many years later, I went looking for the girl from my past who had haunted me, the girl who I could not get out of my thoughts, the girl against whom every other girl in my life had been measured. I found her in Ohio, in the midst of a divorce and raising her daughter.
When Gretchen and I had dated many years earlier, she had been a cute, sweet, slender, petite young girl who also happened to have big breasts. She was the kind of girl that would make a father proud if his son was dating her. That, however, was almost 30 years ago and time, unfortunately, had not been kind to Gretchen. Cute had become slightly wrinkled, petite had become a little dumpy, and big-breasted had become saggy-titted.
Perhaps I'm being a bit tough on her. Actually, she wasn't unattractive for her age and I really didn't expect that, at age 48, she would look like she had at age 24. However, Gretchen was no longer a beauty queen and she definitely had no potential to be called a "trophy wife." She was the kind of woman who would prompt guys to say, 'well, I wouldn't kick her out of bed,' but, of course, there are not too many guys who will kick any woman out of bed when they need to get laid, so this isn't exactly glowing praise for Gretchen.
To everyone else, Gretchen's daughter was Sarah. When it became obvious that Gretchen would move back to Georgia to live with me, I jokingly told her daughter that I would address her as I would any Southern young lady and I hoped that she would aspire to adopt some Southern mannerisms and gentility. With that explanation, I began to call her Miss Sarah and, from that day forward, I always called her Miss Sarah.
When I first met Miss Sarah, she was 18 years old but only a junior in high school. Thanks to her mother's lack of caring about education, Miss Sarah had failed a grade in elementary school and they had never pursued any opportunity for Miss Sarah to try to catch up with the other children her own age. This was quite shameful, because Miss Sarah was actually an intelligent young lady. She was not Einstein's cousin but she was definitely above average intelligence.
However, if was Miss Sarah's beauty, and not her brains, which was most captivating. She had the face of an angel. If she had been painted by daVinci, people today would be saying "Mona who?" She had big brown eyes which could melt any man's heart at any time and under any circumstances. She had big pouty lips which begged to be kissed. Like her mother, she had big breasts which were certainly too large to be called "pert" or "perky" but which were definitely young and firm and not saggy like Gretchen's hooters. Miss Sarah's little behind was so cute that I always just wanted to grab it and squeeze. She had a few – a very few – extra pounds which needed to disappear, the kind of pounds which usually were referred to as "baby fat," but she really wasn't fat. She was a nubile goddess, an undefiled example of sensual innocence and budding sexuality. She was a goddess, she was my goddess.
* * *
After I had located Gretchen in Ohio and re-established our communications, I eventually went there to visit. I won't bore you with too many details of me regularly fucking a 48 year-old, overweight, saggy-titted, used-up, has-been housewife in every room of her house, including her daughter's bedroom. I won't bore you because it was just fucking. Now, it wasn't bad sex because, quite honestly, I've never had bad sex. But, as they say, I've never had bad sex, but some of that sex is better than the rest. This sex wasn't the better kind. Of course, I told Gretchen that it was great sex, but, really, it was just fucking.
One morning, Gretchen and I awoke early, long before her daughter was capable of opening her eyes and putting both feet on the floor. I was horny, as usual, so we fucked on the sofa in the living room. The possibility that her daughter might wake up and catch us made it a little more exciting, and that at least partially compensated for the fact that Gretchen's pussy was a sloppy fit for any normal-sized guy. I don't know if it was loose from childbirth, excessive fucking in her youth, or years of her ex-husband stuffing an extra large dildo in her pussy three times a week (by her description, he was truly a twisted, sick son of a bitch,) but it was not a tight fit.
After Gretchen and I had sex, we got dressed and fixed a cup of coffee. I stood in the family room behind Gretchen, who sat at her computer desk and began reviewing her e-mails. We spoke quietly for a minute as she scanned the long list of unopened items and then she became absorbed in a rather lengthy missive from a friend.
I heard a noise in Miss Sarah's bedroom. Her bedroom adjoined the family room. She had slept with her door only partially closed, as was her habit. As you stood in her doorway facing into her room, her majority of her room was to the right, but her bedroom door was also hinged on the right side; very little of the room was visible from this vantage. In a more modern house, the door would have been hinged on the left side, but Gretchen's house was old and had several bizarre features.
As you stood in the doorway with the door halfway open, you could not see much of her bedroom, except her antique dresser which was against the opposite wall straight ahead. The dresser had three mirrored sections. The middle section was fixed to the back of the dresser and the two side sections were hinged to the middle section and were angled slightly inwards. Miss Sarah probably assumed that she had some privacy when her bedroom door was halfway closed, because she couldn't see out of her room; however, from my vantage point in the dining room, the angled mirror on the left side of the dresser afforded a rather good view of what lay behind her partially closed door.
I looked up and glanced towards her room. In the mirror, I saw that she had risen and was standing at the foot of her bed. She was wearing only bikini panties: tiny, white bikini panties. Just awakening, with tousled hair, she stood there, the sexiest vision of loveliness that I have ever seen. She had well-developed breasts, at least a 36C, and her areolae were a pinkish-brown color, each about the size of a silver dollar. As my gaze dropped to her panties, I could see a very prominent pubic mound. I immediately assumed that she had very firm and protruding labia.
From that moment forward, I felt that I was living a life scripted by Vladimir Nabokov. Miss Sarah was my enticing young Lolita and it was at that very moment that I truly fell in love with her. Yes, I know that this sounds absurd and I hesitate to commit this recollection to writing. If the wrong person reads this, I will be publicly condemned and humiliated. But, just as I fell in love with her without any conscious exercise of free will, I similarly feel compelled to express these thoughts in prose. Perhaps the writing of this story will help to free me from the demon which possesses me, my obsession with Miss Sarah.
Miss Sarah was totally unaware that I was watching her. Her mother was seated directly in front of me but fortunately still absorbed in her e-mail. My gaze continued unabated, my attention transfixed, my eyes feasting upon the delectable and innocent nakedness of Miss Sarah.
The young goddess then placed her hands on her hips and slowly pulled her panties down just low enough so that her pussy was exposed. A man with a heart condition might not have survived that moment, but my heart continued to beat ever so strong with the same virile pulse that energized my burgeoning erection.
I know that I would be flattering myself too much to think that she sensed my watchful eyes and simply wanted to lure me with a show of her most private treasures. No, the real explanation was probably much more mundane. She was likely waiting for her monthly flow to begin and was checking to see if it had started during the night. I can think of no other realistic reason why she would have pulled her panties down but, whatever the reason, I was glad for it.
Miss Sarah's dark pubic hair was so bushy that I could not see her pussy lips at all. As I attempted to perceive her young hidden slit, she placed her right hand between her legs and cupped it so that it conformed to her body as she brought it in contact with her hairy young mound. She then removed her hand, looked at it briefly, and pulled her panties up. She reached for a bathrobe. I turned to face Gretchen, drew close to the back of her chair and began reading over her shoulder.
When Miss Sarah emerged from her bedroom, she had no idea that I had just enjoyed my first look at her forbidden nakedness. Fortunately, she also could not see the tent pole in my pants. This stirring of my manhood was taking much longer than usual to subside.
"What would it be like to have my dick inside that enticing young pussy?" I wondered as I placed my hands on her mother's shoulders.
* * *
Months later, Gretchen and her daughter moved to Georgia because it was obvious that Gretchen and I would eventually be married. It was surrealistic, much worse that "Waiting For Godot." It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. The simplest application of logic suggested that such a thing should not happen. It was absurd to think that I would marry this woman. But I made no effort to extricate myself from the situation. I was a prisoner of complacency, a steady customer for Gretchen's offering - available and regular sex - even if it wasn't great sex. Fucking Gretchen was definitely better than taking matters into my own hands and, occasionally, Gretchen gave me really good oral sex. So time continued and the entire universe stood by silently as the train wreck unfolded.
Gretchen, Miss Sarah, and I went camping just a few weeks after they had moved to Georgia. We had only one tent, so a certain amount of privacy would be compromised. We had one double sleeping bag which would be shared by Gretchen and Miss Sarah and another that would be occupied by only myself.
When we got in the tent that night, Gretchen was the first to get into her sleeping bag. We had a lantern which provided just enough light so that we could see everything inside the tent. Gretchen had changed into pajamas in the Ladies Room but Miss Sarah was still wearing the jeans and tee shirt she had been wearing during the day.
When Miss Sarah got to the point where she was ready to get in the sleeping bag, her mother was already sleeping soundly. In fact, Gretchen was making tiny little lady snores. They were just loud enough that Miss Sarah and I could hear them and we both knew exactly where the noise was coming from. The idea of her mother snoring made Miss Sarah giggle and it was a cute little laugh, in fact a seductive little laugh, a laugh that had me wanting to put my arms around her waist and hold her tightly.
Miss Sarah said something about needing to change out of her clothes and then added that she didn't feel like walking the distance back to the Ladies Room to change. "Well, you're gonna be part of the family soon enough," she said. She didn't ask me to turn and look away while she changed. She simply removed her t-shirt and jeans and stood facing me, wearing only her panties and bra.
I was glad that I was already in my sleeping bag, because as soon as I saw her panty covered mons, I had an erection. I also had an overwhelming urge to pull her panties down and bury my tongue in her pussy but, at the very same time, I wanted to bury my dick in her pussy and pound her virgin cunt until she begged me to stop.
"Don't look," she said coyly, but she didn't wait for me to turn or close my eyes. She reached behind herself to release her tits from the confines of her lacy bra. As soon as the fastener was undone, she let the bra slip from her arms and she stood before me in only her panties. I had previously seen her breasts but welcomed the opportunity to become reacquainted once again with those twin pinnacles of inviting flesh, even if only from a distance.
"You're beautiful," I whispered to her as she pulled a sleep shirt over her head, removing her lovely twin peaks from my field of vision.
"And you're sweet. Goodnight, Ron," she said angelically as she entered her sleeping bag.
"Goodnight, sweetie," I replied. After 15 minutes of thinking about nothing but Miss Sarah, her panties, her tits, and all the fun I would like to have with her, it was obvious that I was not going to sleep anytime soon.
I unzipped my sleeping bag, stood up and pulled on my shorts.
"Ron, where are you going?" Miss Sarah whispered from across the tent.
"I've got to go pee," I said, but that was only half of the truth. I had to go jerk off so that I could get some sleep. My mind was filled with the image of this beautiful 18 year-old girl standing just a few feet away from me, clad only in her panties, my right hand inside those panties and my middle finger alternating between the depths of her wet pussy and the thrill of rubbing her clit. I could hear her moaning as clearly as if it was real and I spurted an unusually large load of cum as my fantasy Miss Sarah had her orgasm.
* * *
I began living in the house with Gretchen and her daughter after some severe weather came through our part of the state. From that time forward, Gretchen and I had frequent and mediocre sex. She had finally gotten over her hang-up about Miss Sarah hearing us, which I had accepted as a rather common hindrance to sex for most couples with kids. We were having sex at least 3 or 4 times per week, but even with the occasional oral sex, it quickly became very monotonous.
I loved undressing Gretchen and enjoyed performing a slow seduction of her body and soul. She knew that, but she always simply undressed and got into bed naked. It was like she was saying to me, "well, here I am naked, so you might as well come fuck me and get it over with before I go to sleep." That didn't exactly create the mood for passionate lovemaking.
I would start sucking on one nipple and rubbing on Gretchen's clit, mainly in broad circles, with very light pressure. Gretchen would start fondling my balls and stroking my dick. I would tell her to slow down. She would tell me to not rub her clit so hard. She would then reach for the lubricant and apply an ample amount to my shaft. Sometimes, she would also uses her fingers to apply some lube to her labia. When Gretchen started to become aroused, I would suck her nipple into my mouth and very lightly caress it with my teeth. This always took her to the next level. She would then get up "on all fours" and motion for me to get behind her. With her right hand between her legs, she would guide my dick to her ready and prepared pussy. I then would pump away to the rhythmic strains of Hot Dick And The Crotch Bumping Boogie. About 20-30 beats of that tune was usually all it took for me to release a supply of my seed into her hungry hole.
Quite often, Gretchen would orgasm at the same time as me, but her orgasm lasted much longer. I would have 6 or 7 spurts, probably 2-3 seconds apart, and then my orgasm was done. I never timed it, but it probably lasted between 12 and 20 seconds. My dick would be extremely sensitive for the next minute or so, but the orgasm was over.
She, on the other hand, would have an initial orgasm that lasted about 30 seconds. Then, the least movement or the slightest "dirty talk" from me would set her off again. If I pulled my dick back just the slightest or said something like "you're pussy feels good," she would begin her next orgasm and it would be every bit as long, and as strong, as the initial orgasm. Sometimes, it apparently took absolutely nothing to set her off again. She could go on with successive waves of ecstatic moans and total body orgasms for 5 minutes.
Occasionally I would slide my index finger down her spine, ever so lightly, and the feather touch would cause her to orgasm again. When this happened, I would sometimes let my finger continue to slide further, down her ass crack and it would come to rest on her asshole. If she was in the midst of an orgasm when I did this, the intensity of her muscular contractions would at least double and I would feel her pussy grabbing my dick as if it didn't want to let go.
When she had multiple orgasms like this, her pussy would contract and squeeze my dick and I would either pull out of her pussy or get hard again. I have never done this with any other partner, but I would occasionally be able to stay hard after I came and keep thrusting into her pussy, giving her several orgasms. Eventually, she would ask me to stop because she was exhausted. I would get a big grin on my face, like I was the king stud in this town. Maybe that's part of why I kept hanging around for more with Gretchen.
At times, I was distracted and I knew that I would need stronger stimulation to bring me to the point of orgasm. On these occasions, I often thought about my Miss Sarah. I thought about kissing her lips. I thought about sucking on her nipples. I thought about playing with her cute ass. But most of all, I thought about having my dick in her pussy and thrusting until we both collapsed in a musky heap of orgasmic sweat and virgin pussy juice. These fantasies would always bring me to an orgasm.
* * *
With the schedules that we all had for work and school, I was often the last one to leave the house in the mornings. One morning, I passed by Miss Sarah's bedroom and the door was open. Despite my tremendous adoration for her, I certainly knew that the girl was not perfect. One of her faults was that she was very much a slob in the housekeeping of her bedroom. This day was no exception. She had dirty clothes strewn about her floor.
I noticed a pair of her panties on the floor, crumpled up, obviously already worn, and waiting to be taken to the laundry. I looked out in the driveway to make sure that no one had returned home and then I entered the bedroom.
I picked up the panties and held them in my hands. They were like gold coins to an explorer. I felt the fabric. I looked in the crotch of the panties and there was a slight damp stain in the panties. These must be the panties she was wearing last night, I thought. I held them to my nose and inhaled. What a deep, rich, earthy aroma was exuded from this skimpy cotton garment. I fantasized that she had been wearing these panties while she masturbated and the dampness was her female juice captured by the fabric. I licked the crotch of her panties and it tasted salty. I buried my nose in the panties again, savoring the aroma. This smelled nothing like Gretchen. This was truly an elixir, a smell that would set any man's loins on fire. I returned the panties to the floor, careful to approximate the position of the panties so that my intrusion would go unnoticed.
Over the next year, I probably entered Miss Sarah's bedroom a hundred times for the sole purpose of sniffing her panties. Yes, I know that the last sentence sums it up rather well: what a pathetic and extremely perverted thing to do. Well, and if that's what you think, you're right. I knew how sad and pathetic it was at the time I was doing it, but I couldn't stop. I was obsessed. I was possessed.